Sick
by dufflecoat-supreme
Summary: An exercise in speculation. John Carter story.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This started out as a late night distraction, and exercise in free style writing, and my third fanfiction ever. Just bear with me.

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

**_Sick_**

It was dangerous to be here, he thought, he really shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have come and yet here he was, walking down this same road again. He was sick, he knew it, he was twisted inside but he couldn't stop himself from coming here, again.

No matter how hard he tried to lift himself above all of his baggage, his emotional turmoil, nothing worked, nothing ever worked; nothing would ever work.

He gently stroked his arms, his skilful fingers grazing his pale, pale flesh, he sat in the cemetery, he wasn't crying, but his eyes were wide and bloodshot, his face was haggard, his eyes sunken and his thin pale skin stretched across his skull, his once thick, lustrous hair was now thin and dry.

He always seemed to end up here, just staring at the headstones, tracing the names marked upon them. The dead didn't judge him, the dead listened to him scream and whimper late at night. He felt oddly comfortable among the corpses, as if he belonged.

He sat, rocking unsteadily and mumbling incoherently to himself; sometimes he talked to the graves and he would always wait for an answer, before continuing, mumbling nonsense phrases and long, repetitive apologies.

That's where they found him, sitting cross-legged, rocking slightly; whispering his secrets to the dead.

Alger and Det. Rohm, shook their head at the sad sight before them, he was a silhouette of a broken man, once a professional, a golden boy, a son, a friend, a lover to many, he had once been what would be considered normal, all of his problems could be solved by a quick visit to an expensive shrink and some designer drug.

But here he was, he remained, hidden, broken, a hollow shell of a man who once existed.

"John?" Alger asked quietly, standing beside him, he shivered and shrugged off the voice that couldn't quite drown out the voices in his head.

"John" he said, just a little louder, but to no avail, too far gone he didn't even recognize his own name. Alger sighed and looked back at Det. Rohm, who looked sombre and strained, he returned his focus back to the trembling figure beside him.

"Dr. Carter?" He urged, placing a hand on his shoulder. Carter jumped and looked up at the man beside him, with wide, fear filled eyes, they stared straight through Alger and he shuddered, forcing himself to stare back.

_God, those eyes_, he thought, they took on a childlike appearance, gazing out from his ghostly white face, sunken eyes and thin, translucent skin, the pale moonlight bouncing of the angular lines of his face.

He was haunted.

"It's time to go home, Dr. Carter, time for you to sleep."

Carter looked around, confused by his surroundings, his eyes snapped from one place to another but he seemed to recognise the concerned face beaming down from above, finally Carter took the outstretched hand and Alger hauled him up to his feet.

He was tall and Alger did not match his height but he made up for it in breadth, as it was not hard to out weigh the skeletal figure who gently keeled, unsteady on his feet. Alger grasped him and gestured for Det. Rohm to aid him, Rohm rushed to his side and helped to balance Carter, who seemed to sway in even the gentlest wind.

As they started to walk from the cemetery, Carter stretched out his hand and his fingers trailed along the bold letters of a name: ABIGAIL LOCKHART 1968-2004


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Alger helped Carter into his bed, giving him a sedative, Carter mumbled an exhausted apology but Alger wasn't sure to whom it was addressed, as an extra measure of safety he tightened the restraints around his wrists and ankles. This was becoming a terrible routine for Alger, Rohm watched forlornly as the young man twisted in his sleep, uttering soft riddles that only he could decipher.

Alger pulled the blankets up across his trembling form, looking down at the troubled face that now twisted and contorted with bad dreams.

He shut the door silently and stood in the grandeur of the Carter mansion, the hallways seemed to stretch forever and it was a very lonely place to be, now that it was just Carter and the number of staff assigned to his care, but none of them cared as much as Alger; he had been the Carter family driver for over 20 years and he had known Carter since he just before his brother died, he killed him to see the pain and fear that now haunted the once vibrant eyes of the Carter's forgotten son.

"What the hell happened to him?" asked Rohm as they stood outside his door, they could hear the muffled rants even from here.

Alger shook his weary head and looked back in the direction of the door that hid the family secret far from view.

"Too much tragedy, too much for any one man to take in one life," he said sadly, "He's buried too many of his loved ones in ground to be able to think straight. Too much tragedy" he repeated again, shaking his head and walking off leaving the much-confused Rohm to stare at the door, alone with his thoughts.

Carter's hands were grasping at the air, reaching for his ghosts, for flesh that now rotted beneath the soil, deep underground they say, but for him they were always just beneath the surface, crawling under his skin.

"Abby..." he murmured, the sound of metal hitting metal breaking the troubled silence.

"I'm sorry."

A/N: Very short, I know. Sorry, but the fic is quite long, so there be lots of little amounts.


	3. Chapter 3

Rohm came into the lounge room, he marvelled at the ostentatious design, it was a beautiful house and the family who owned it were obviously were rich.

"Rich family, huh?" he said to the stoic Alger.

"Yes, the Carter's are quite wealthy, quite reputable too, donate a lot to the arts."

"Just have a crazy son?" Rohm surmised, "Every family's got one. What is he: schizophrenic?"

"No, just a very troubled young man," Alger replied calmly, absently straightening a throwover on the lounge.

"Ah, rich kid's problems then? His friends overdose or whatever, or has he always been like this?"

Alger just quietly replied: "No, in fact, up until a few months ago John was an emergency room doctor as Chicago County General, the chief resident, he just...lost one too many of his friends and family and something in him just...snapped, I suppose."

Rohm immediately felt guilty and more than a little perturbed; he had seen basket cases before, but he had never really come across one that had not been like that always or at least had induced themselves through drugs.

"Goodnight Det. Rohm, thank you for your help finding Mr Carter tonight, I and the Carter family do appreciate it, we do not forget a debt, I'll show you out." He could tell that the wispy old man was ushering him out, trying to purge the house of his presence. This family had secrets, what a surprise.

"No, I can show myself out, don't mention it Mr Alger, it's my job."

"Thankyou and goodnight."

"Morning." Rohm corrected, disappearing into the chilly April night.

When he was gone, Alger relaxed into a chair, closing his eyes for a well-deserved nap but it was only momentarily as it wasn't long before the tortured screams drifted down from above and Alger was running to Carter's side.

He knelt beside the cot, trying to wake the struggling Carter, he had kicked away his sheets and was arching and writhing to get out, to get away from something.

"Abby!" He screamed,"Abby! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Alger tried to shake him awake and he steadied himself at his side, trying to prevent Carter from hurting himself.

"John! John, wake up! It's just another nightmare, you have to wake up," He chanted, shaking him.

His eyes snapped open and they stared mystified into Alger's own for a second before Alger was pulled down onto his chest, Carter's thin hands trying to hold onto him.

"I killed her," he uttered and Alger injected him with another sedative.

"I killed her" he moaned in his chemical stupor, "I killed Abby."


End file.
